


all i wanna say is you're mine/you're mine

by khalasaar



Category: Girl Meets World
Genre: Drugs mention, F/F, F/M, OH GOD THIS TOOK SO LONG., alcohol mention, blah blah blah, cursing, dance au!!, it's tame but the emotions are WILD let me tell you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 23:38:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5352692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khalasaar/pseuds/khalasaar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Communication isn't always verbal. Dancers know this better than anyone.</p><p> </p><p>(riley meets maya in advanced hip hop when she moves to new york)</p>
            </blockquote>





	all i wanna say is you're mine/you're mine

Riley is in the middle of practicing her footwork when the door to the studio creaks open; she ignores it completely. Her gaze is fixed on a point six feet away, sweat trickling over her collarbones, lungs heaving for the cool air that blasts from the AC unit. Since starting here three years ago, she’s been taught over and over again not to lose focus, not to get distracted, under _any_ circumstances - so this is what she does, even as the door groans again, footsteps sounding behind her, murmurs filling the room. She watches her feet in the mirror, slipping over the polished floors, crossing in a blur of dirty black fabric. Watches her movements, reflected, smoother and faster than the last time she went through them. The sight sends a thrill of satisfaction through her chest.

“Riley!” 

She stops short and turns around. Her chest is heaving, lungs working hard to suck in breath after breath of cold air; her teacher is in the doorway, appraising, and behind her is a girl Riley has never seen, partly shadowed and mysterious looking. Riley crosses her arms over her chest. The peace has officially been disturbed. “Yeah?”

“We have a new student.” Riley’s eyes cut to the girl, standing casually in the background, and nods slowly. “So we need to borrow the room. I’m sorry." Her instructor pouts sympathetically. "But it looks like you’re doing a great job.”

“Thanks,” Riley says, her hard feelings evaporating instantly. She tosses her teacher a beam and trots to the other side of the room, raking hair away from her face and grimacing at the sweat that comes off on her palm. As her heartbeat slows, Riley starts to pick invisible dirt from her clothes,  trying  not to take notice of the hushed conversation happening a few feet away from her; feeling awkward, she breaks open her water bottle and checks her phone, taking the opportunity to catch her breath.

The girl steps forward, and Riley promptly loses it again. 

She has blue-blue eyes, ones that aren’t particularly friendly, but _are_  spectacularly gorgeous; a whole ocean of dirty blonde hair that falls, in impossibly perfect curls, across her face; a body that’s short and curvy and lined with muscles, wearing a pair of track pants that smile low across her hips, and a white t-shirt that’s slipping off one shoulder, revealing collarbones and a chest that are golden with freckles. Riley is infatuated with the way she moves. Feet dragging, but purposefully - hips swinging slowly, hair tumbling down her back, muscles flexing across her stomach where her shirt has ridden up. 

She stops in the middle of the room. Pulls one foot to rest on its toes, shifts her weight to the opposite leg, fixes her stare on the mirror. A rap song starts to blare from the speakers, loud enough that Riley can feel it vibrating underneath her skin. For a long second, the girl stands there, poised and perfect, while Riley watches, holding her breath, and the teacher waits behind both of them impatiently.

The girl starts to move, and suddenly, it all makes sense.

It’s the kind of dancing that you only ever hear about, the one where the dancer does this to keep sane, because her blood is on fire, because she can’t bear not to. 

It's glorious. It pulls the breath from Riley's lungs.

_“Runnin’ this game for five years, guess that’s why my feet hurt, wonder when they bite me, do these bitches teeth hurt?“_ The music is so loud it hurts Riley’s chest. The girl’s eyes are bright even from across the room, the weight of her movements taking up the whole studio, electricity glimmering across her skin. It’s ethereal, the way she moves - so easy and so perfect, here and there in half a second, oozing confidence with every roll of her ankles, every perfectly timed step. _“Yes I am an icon, that’s me on yo t-shirt, man I thought you knew better, do yo fuckin’ research-“_  Riley is transfixed. It's like water and fire at the same time, hips rolling, hair whirling, bright and fluid. The kind of beautiful that makes you forget your own name.

(An _entirely_ aesthetic appreciation, Riley says to herself.)

The girl turns one last time, dragging a sneaker across the floor, and bows.

It’s over?

It ended so fast. Didn’t it?

Disappointment thrums in Riley’s chest.

The girl turns around. Her face is bright, a smile showing all her teeth, hair turned into a tropical storm; her track pants have slipped down, revealing an inch of bare skin and the waistband of a pair of Calvin Kleins, the sight of which makes Riley’s brain go all-caps. Her whole being is glowing, as if she swallowed a lightbulb or something. 

A few long moments of silence swallow them.

“I’m sure you can go into advanced hip-hop,” the teacher says, finally, as if it wasn’t the most obvious fucking thing in the world.

Riley is both excited and intimidated, watching the smirk creep over the newcomer’s face - the way her chest swells with an excited inhale as she nods her thanks, that breathless smile still written all over her lips - and turns to finally, finally, finally, meet Riley’s eyes.

She grins. And Riley’s heart doesn’t really start up again until she flees the room ten minutes later, the girl’s name rattling in her head (MayaMayaMaya) and her watch counting down the hours to their next class.

 

***

 

Maya drops like a rock. Swivels her hips as she pulls back up, slides a foot outward, turns halfway, just like the teacher told her to. Watches her body flickering in the mirror, the muscles in her stomach flexing when she twists, knowing exactly where her feet should land and and watching as they hit the mark without thinking, just feeling, nerves singing with energy, her whole brain focused on her movements. The quick steps, the locked shoulders, the experience that pulls it all together.

It’s muscle memory after practicing this much, and Maya knows she’s looking damn good. The overhead lights are blaring overhead so that the mirror shows her outlined perfectly, all wild hair, sun-dark skin, movements sexy and sharp. A smile, 100% exhilaration, is creeping across her lips.

This is what dancing does to her. Sucks all the turmoil out of her brain, all the ache out of her muscles, all the complications from her life.

She loves it.

Doesn’t matter that she starts at a new school tomorrow, doesn’t matter that she misses home already. Doesn’t matter doesn’t matter doesn’t matter. She knows how to rap this song, she knows how to move, she knows what to do- in this moment, and for the next 8 counts - better than she knows anything else.

It feels like hours until she twirls to a stop, and seconds, simultaneously.

The girl she interrupted is standing there staring at her, wide-eyed, lips parted slightly in surprise; she’s delicately pretty, and so innocent looking that Maya wonders if she shouldn’t be in ballet class instead. But then she glances at Maya, at the teacher, back at her - and a beautiful, disbelieving smile crosses her lips, stays there for a long time as she stares at Maya, running a hand absently through the long brown hair that sits on her shoulder. Maya grins back at her, and grins wider when the instructor says, _duh_ , she’s cut out for advanced hip hop. Exhilaration thrills through her chest and down her spine as she whips her hair away from her face, sheepishly crosses the room, and tries to hide the smile that keeps fighting its way onto her face. The teacher, who finally introduces herself as Jennifer, says it will be a pleasure to work with her, and Maya nods, dazed, as she leaves the room.

“Hey.” Something taps on Maya’s arm; she whips around. Then she blinks, hard. The brunette is a foot away, smiling so brightly that Maya is almost blinded. She puts a hand on her hips, shifts her weight to one foot, and holds out the other hand to shake. “I’m Riley. You’re insane!”

Maya’s eyebrows shoot upward.

“No no no,” the girl squeaks as she realizes her mistake, eyes widening horrifically. “Oh my God, I’m sorry. I meant, like, you’re insanely good. Not just insane. Jeez, I am _so_ sorry.” Her whole face is consumed in a blush. “It was supposed to be a compliment.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Maya says, biting her lip self-consciously before she smiles. “No worries. I’m Maya.”

“Did you just move out here?” Riley starts to slink toward the doorway, stopping to pick up a sweatshirt on the ground, while Maya trails behind her. She wrings her hands self consciously, being sure to stray a few steps behind.

“Yeah. From New Jersey.”

“Oh, not far. How long have you been dancing?”

“Um - well - a couple years, but on and off.” Maya rakes hair back from her face. Riley is gathering her stuff from all corners of the room, and it’s hard not to watch how she moves, the way her clothes flutter, curving muscles flexing under her skin. She looks like a dancer, head to toe, and Maya is trying _really_ not to feel threatened.

“Me too!” Riley wheels around to face her, one hand on the door and a bright smile still on her face. She looks outside, and the grin drops off her face, turning into a pout. “I gotta go,” she says apologetically, motioning to the cars parked outside, “but I’ll see you in class Wednesday?”

“Yeah, if I don’t die at school,” Maya says, pulling a face.

“You’ll do fine. Hey! No chance you’re going to John Quincy, huh?”

“No, I am, actually!” Maya tries to contain her excitement, but it feels like a sign from God. Her fingers are vibrating with relief. Starting a new school in the last year is torture without someone to back you up, and even if Riley is bitter about her showing up at the studio, she’s acting crazy-nice. When Maya blurts that out, Riley’s face even lights up, and she claps her hands together.

“I can show you around then!” A car honks outside. “Oh, jeez. I gotta go. See you!”

She dashes out the door. Maya thinks that maybe she’s moving faster than needed, and watching her slam into the parking lot and disappear into an SUV gives starts up a funny, nauseous feeling in her stomach.

But then she takes a deep breath and pushes it down. 

Maya Hart isn’t scared of anything. 

 

***

 

They don’t run into each other until 3rd period. Maya isn’t exactly happy, but her day has been going well, for what it is. The teachers are nice, the kids haven’t been bothering her, and she found a pretty boy in her math class to tease about the way his metaphors are always, somehow, farm-related. It’s not that different from home (which is simultaneously terrifying and comforting). She likes to keep to herself, so the lack of conversation is more of a relief than a bother. It gives her a lot of time to daydream.

She’s pulling a textbook from her locker when Riley rounds the corner, flanked by Huckleberry from math, Farkle in an orange turtleneck, and a boy she knows is named Zay, but has only seen twice today. The hallway crowds part around them like Moses on the Red Sea. Maya knows their look: popular kids with the world in their hands, with good home lives, a lot of love in their hearts.

(She’s so jealous it hurts.)

Maya drops the book into her bag, half-expecting them to whip right past her, but the group’s footsteps peter out to her right; brief rush of trepidation hits, but Maya forces herself to face them with a smile plastered on her face. It quickly becomes real when she turns and finds this an inch away: Riley lounging against the lockers, a wide smile on her face, absently playing with the charms on her bracelet.

Maya smiles back, feeling totally-dorky-love-sick-loser, not even caring as much as she should.

Having a best friend might be fun.

“Hey!” Riley bounds forward to give her a one-armed hug: Maya freezes at the touch, then relaxes into the first contact she’s had in forever. When Riley pulls back, it’s stunning to see how much warmth is in her smile. 

Have they really only known each other 16 hours?

“How’s your first day?”

“Not bad. I met your friend Heehaw already,” Maya answers. She throws a nod toward Lucas, who simply rolls his eyes and gives Riley an affectionate _it’s okay_ smile. 

The brunette practically melts under his gaze. 

_Ohhh,_ Maya thinks, trying not to be bitter.

Even if she wasn’t bitter… well, it’s sort of gross to watch.

“So, um.” She clears her throat. It takes Riley a minute to look back at her, and when she does, her eyes are so lovesick, they’re practically dead-body glassy. “Where are you headed?”

“All of us are going to history. You?”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Awesome!” Riley grins. She reaches out and grabs Maya’s hand, tugging her toward the open classroom, and Maya remembers this - their fingers intertwined and steps matching, watching Riley’s hair float around her face as she turns, and they go in to face the world together - as the moment that everything _really_ starts. 

 

***

 

A week after Maya’s first day, this first small victory comes: she gets invited to do something outside of school.

By Huckleberry, of all people.

“Hey, Maya?” Lucas is traipsing down the hall toward her, backpack slung over one shoulder, looking uncharacteristically grim. It’s ten minutes after school let out - Mr. Matthews kept her after class - and the hallways are empty, dusty and barren, except for the blonde boy and his Longe-Ranger-esque silhouette. Maya closes her locker door and turns on one heel. 

“Hey, cowboy,” she calls, a smirk twitching at her lips. Even from ten feet away she can see Lucas’ exasperated eye-roll. _Mission accomplished._ She likes the kid, really. He’s been nice to her since the first day, he lets her copy off his homework, and, for some reason, he doesn’t mind her endless teasing. In another universe, Maya could probably be the sugary-sweet, doting kind of best friend that he’s used to.

But in this one, he’s just fun to mess with.

“You busy?”

“Depends. I’m not exactly in the mood for a rodeo, but if we’re talking _just_ a hoe-down, I might have time.”

“It _is_ a hoe-down,” Lucas says, smirking when Maya’s mouth falls open. “I’m gonna go meet Riley at Topanga’s. Do you wanna come with?”

“Topanga’s?”

“It’s a cafe. Weird name, I know. Riley’s mom owns it.”

“Just the three of us?”

“Zay and Farkle might show up. They always make it there eventually.”

“Okay.” Maya shrugs her backpack higher up her shoulders. “Sure. Is it far?”

Lucas shakes his head, and they start down the hall at a snail’s pace. Maya’s sore all over from hours of dance and a surprising amount of stress; as soon as they start walking, she feels the burn in her muscles, but bites her lip and keeps quiet. What would Huckleberry say if she showed weakness this early? For the first ten minutes, they slog through campus, and Maya thinks she’s keeping up pretty well - but by the time they make it up and down the four flights of stairs leading onto the street, her lungs are burning, and she has to stop to bend over and wheeze like an eighty year old. The world swirls around in front of her eyes. 

“Sorry,” she apologizes to Lucas’ shoes. “It’s been a rough week.”

“Everything okay?”

“I’m just banged up.” A huge breath out, a moment of silence, and Maya is on her feet again, pushing hair out of her face. “Don’t worry about it.”

Lucas is trying to hide his concern, but he’s not exactly Meryl Streep: Maya gives him a look and raises her hand to stop any further questions. “Seriously,” she adds, narrowing her eyes, “It’s fine. Where do we go from here?”

“Oh, it’s right here.” He points to a door down the street, set deep into the ground, the building freshly painted and the display window wiped crystal-clear; through it, Riley’s dark hair is visible, floating through the restaurant like a buoy in water. Maya is suddenly struck by the fact this street is the quietest she’s ever been down in New York. She turns, opening her mouth to say as much to Lucas, but he’s already sliding down the stairs and into the cafe - without a second thought she chases after him, steps punctuating by the click of her heels on pavement. A bell shrills as she yanks the door open and whirls inside. 

“Maya!” Riley’s smile is blinding. She’s standing by the baked goods counter, eyes bright, her hand carelessly interlocked with Lucas’s, the sight of her strangely thrilling for being as mundane as it really is. “You came!” 

“I did,” Maya says, a slow smile spreading over her face. “Your mom is really named Topanga?”

“She is,” Riley laughs. She opens her mouth to say something, but a curly-haired kid streaks across the room and nearly trips over her shoes, startling the words right out of her mouth. She catches the boy by the back of his shirt and pulls him back. “This is my brother, Auggie. Auggie, say hi to Maya.” The kid waves, flashing her a toothy smile, and Maya drops to his level, sticking out a hand to shake. He has a pretty good grip for a five-year old.

“Hey, Auggie. Nice to meet ya.” 

“You’re new?”

“Yeah. Just started at your sister’s school. I dance with her, too.” 

“Can I ask you something?” Maya nods, and Auggie side-eyes Riley and Lucas before he leans in to whisper  
conspiratorially. “Can you make sure Riley doesn’t break any bones when she dances?”

The blonde grins, then shrugs in dissent. “Sure thing, buddy.”

She salutes him as he runs off, zooming around the cafe like a tiny human torpedo until he disappears behind the registers. Still crouching, Maya looks up and realizes Riley is staring at her like she just grew a second head. “What?” She cuts a glance at Lucas, but he seems about as lost as she is. Riley is still staring, an astonished smile spreading over her face. “Hello?” Maya snaps a hand in front of the brunette’s face. “Earth to Riley?”

“You are _such_ a kid person,” Riley squeals.

“That’s important?” 

“Well, you don’t really...” Lucas gestures at her helplessly. “ _Look_ like one.”

“Excuse me?”

“He’s right,” Riley raves, in a tone of voice that sounds ‘candle-enthusiast-in-a-Bath-and-Body-Works’ excited. “It’s adorable.”

“I am not adorable!”

“Are too.”

Maya’s eyes narrow. “Riley, I-”

The door slams open. In bursts Farkle, panting, a savage grin on his face like a lion before a kill, only less threatening. Zay streaks in behind him, shouting something that sounds a lot like “NOT TODAY!” before he launches forward and body-slams Farkle into the nearest couch. The collision makes an intensely strange squishing sound, and Maya jumps backward as the two of them writhe off the cushions, slam to the ground, and nearly bulldoze her feet. The cafe is mostly empty, but the few patrons sipping coffee nearby don’t even take notice. Riley and Lucas seem not to, either. They’re exchanging secret glances and watching the scene the way Maya imagines rich people watch Black Friday tramplings. 

“Is this a normal thing?” she asks, petrified, as Zay’s elbow slams down dangerously close to her toes.

“They’re nuts,” says Riley, by way of an answer.

There’s a sharp punching sound, a shriek, and then the stamp of shoes on concrete. Farkle rises from the ruins, hair rumpled and flashing a victorious grin. He brushes the dirt off his turtleneck and moves closer, stepping over Zay, who is on the ground performing the knockout scene of a lifetime - complete with theatrical moans and rabies-esque foaming at the mouth - to give Maya a knowing wink. “We always race to see who can get to Riley first.”

“Not to burst your bubble,” Maya says, lip curling in discomfort, “but I’m pretty sure Ranger Rick was here before either of you.”

“Doesn’t count,” Zay shrugs, spitting a chunk of carpet out of his mouth. “He’s always there.”

Maya cuts Riley a look. The brunette smiles at her guiltily.

“Maya!” She looks down; Auggie is at her feet, wide-eyed and grinning, holding up a pastry that smells sinfully delicious. “Want it?”

She can feel Riley smiling just two feet away. She can feel the group - her _friends_ \- all standing here, watching, maybe flashing secret smiles. She can feel her world solidifying. _New York is real, and these people want to be around me._

“Sure,” she says, taking the dessert out of Auggie’s hands. She ruffles his hair. “Thanks, kid.”

 

***  
 

 

Riley picks up an extra four hours of practice a week. She comes home aching all over and has to drag herself to school with feet covered in calluses, but she /also/ goes to bed late at night with a smile so big it hurts her face. She doesn’t really need the extra lessons, but Maya practices like a maniac, and she only talks - _really_ talks, about important things - when they’re at the studio.

Riley is dead set on figuring her out. On making this thing between the two of them more than it is.

So, yes. By the end of the week, she’s tired and sore and bruised all over. She does homework driving back and forth from practice. She sleeps for 12 hours on weekends.

But man, it’s so, so worth it.

Maya is a ball of sunshine when they’re at practice. She’s touchy and affectionate and doesn’t mind when Riley holds her hand, or brushes their shoulders together, or, when either of them is in an especially good mood, loops an arm around her waist. In fact, she initiates it sometimes. (Riley thinks that she likes to cuddle, just doesn’t let herself show it.) She giggles, and smirks, and even manages to tell jokes while she whirls around the room. She looks _alive_. She tells Riley important things, tosses them out when they’re dancing together, or changing in the back room, which Riley knows is just a ploy to make what she says feel insignificant. 

But she never falls for it. Riley keeps every single word next to her heart. Just in case.

Maya has good taste in songs to dance to, and teaches Riley routines from her last class. Riley can usually pick it up after the third try, but she always _forgets_ , just to bring Maya twirling back to her, that grin on her face, ready to explain it all again with an endless patience.

The blonde, it turns out, is supremely great at teaching. She laughs at everything, isn’t afraid to demonstrate, and doesn’t seem to mind that half the time, Riley runs out of breath from asking for another explanation. She puts both hands on Riley’s waist and shows her how to _properly_ hip-swivel, ten seconds of an intense routine (to a song so dirty, Riley thinks she may need to go to church right after), and a new way of hip popping that Riley will never, ever use.

But she pays attention anyway, because seeing that grin on Maya’s face, the way she throws her head back when she laughs, is just… enough.

It’s enough. Watching her, being with her, feeling how the two of them get closer. It’s more than enough.

(Riley tries not to think about why, exactly, that is.)

One day, as Maya whirls past her in series of six turns, she mentions that her dad walked out. Between kicks, she  
admits that she does painting on the side. That she’s not really much of an animal person. That she’s a total sucker for horror movies. 

And she even listens as Riley rambles on about her crushes, about the stuffed bear whose face Auggie ripped off, about the tarot cards she keeps under her pillow, how she’s never going to be as great as her parents. 

When she says this, Maya gives her a knowing look. The glitter in her eyes speaks volumes: _Come on, Riley. We both know you’re perfect._

(Riley doesn’t know exactly what to make of that, but damn, she loves it.)

Five days a week, she comes into the studio, and Maya gets lodged a little deeper into her heart.

As stupid as it sounds, it’s true. 

And every time it happens, Riley has to try a little harder not to think about what that is starting to mean. 

 

***

 

It takes just three weeks of this for them to transition from Maya and Riley to MayaandRiley. Best friends so close that Riley forgets about Lucas, forgets about the impending world, forgets about the fact that she has duties outside their friendship. Why should they matter? Maya is with her, bright-eyed and sparkling and full of love in a way that only Riley can see. No one has ever made her so happy, so fast, so consistently. It’s the two of them until the end of the line. It’s their world.

She says as much to Maya one day, as she’s falling asleep on the blonde’s lap. It’s a little past midnight, and some comedy is blaring in the background as she drifts off to sleep, as Maya threads fingers through her hair. The words come out all at once, sleep-hazy and warm.

Maya smiles. Her teeth are fluorescent in the dim light, her eyes unguarded, heartbeat so strong that it seeps through her body, and into Riley’s, where they overlap.

“I know, pumpkin,” she says, fingers skimming Riley’s cheek. “Me too.”

(Riley never tells anyone about this. Never, ever, ever. She’s never been this close with anyone: sharing it would be a gross violation at best.) 

(In public, she downplays their friendship for this very reason. To keep it between them. To keep Maya close to her. To make sure she doesn’t float away.)

(This moment never makes it out of Riley’s mouth. But she keeps it close to her. Always.) 

 

***

 

“You’ve been gone a lot.” Lucas stirs his drink absently; he and Riley are taking up a couch in Topanga’s, finally hanging out after weeks and weeks that have been swallowed by Riley’s obsessive dance practice and whirlwind connection with Maya. She aches all over, and her brain is stuffed to the brim with confusing thoughts to sort through. It seems like every corner she’s turned has led to something else that takes up her time; in the past couple weeks, she’s barely seen Farkle, Zay, or even Lucas, who she usually hangs out with every day. 

(The worst thing is, she barely even misses them. Maya seems to make up for all of it. In fact, she’d rather be with Maya right now.)

(But of course she can’t say that.)

Riley has so much to talk about that finding a place to start seems impossible. So she just sighs happily and swipes the whipped cream off Lucas’ hot chocolate.

“Jerk,” he pouts, though he does nothing to stop her. “So. Where’d you disappear to?”

“I’ve just been putting in extra time at the studio.”

“Why? You weren’t already perfect?”

“I was _close_ ,” Riley teases, “but Maya has been teaching me some new stuff, and it helps me figure her out.”

“Did you figure out why she never uses my real name yet?”

“That continues to evade me.”

“And, remind me, why are you trying to figure her out?”

“Why not?” Riley shrugs, taking the cup out of his hands to scrape off the last of the whipped cream. “Did it with you  
and it turned out well. I think she’s interesting. Don’t you?”

“I guess,” Lucas admits, taking back his drink, “but still.” His eyes widen in mock frustration. “The nicknames.”

“She’s so good at them!” Riley exclaims through a mouthful of food. “How does it work?”

“Ask her.” Lucas stretches out; their knees brush accidentally, and Riley can feel the sensation ride all the way up her spine, warm and so tingly she feels it on every square inch of skin. Comfortable, and old, and alien, all at once. He seems not to notice - but when she looks over, there’s the faintest trace of a smile on his lips, one that deepens when he meets her eyes. 

Then it drops. 

“But why does it have to be at the studio?”

“She only talks there. It’s the weirdest thing.” Guilt floods up as she talks, knowing Maya would hate to hear this. “I mean, she - well, I guess the right word would be chat. She chats with us at school, but she only really _talks_ when we’re practicing. She’s allergic to personal conversations outside the building. I don’t know why. Al _though_ , I think I’ve pretty much broken her.”

“Have you tried asking why she doesn’t talk?”

“Confrontation!” Riley gasps in mock fear. Lucas grins, and she can feel her heart melting, dripping down into her stomach.

_This is good,_ she thinks. _This is normal. This is how it was before Maya came. This is it._

_This is it?_

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around, though. I miss you guys.”

“Me too.” Lucas bumps her shoulder affectionately. “But no worries. I understand.”

For some reason, those two words spark a rush of fear. “You do?”

“Yeah. New girl, dark, mysterious, she _dances_ ,” Lucas says, wiggling his eyebrows, and the fear drains out through Riley’s feet. “The Riley I know is so nice she’d do anything for a girl she just met. And you’re doing it. Good for you, Riley. She’s interesting, and she needs you. I hope she appreciates it.”

A smile floods Riley’s face. 

“So. You wanted to see The Good Dinosaur, right?”

“Yes! Yes yes yes!” Riley bolts upright, her eyes widening, and Lucas looks back at her with amusement sparkling in his eyes. “Wait, are we going?”

“Well, I got tickets,” Lucas shrugs, “so I sure hope so, otherwise I totally blew all my allowance for nothing.”

“Promise you didn’t blow it.” Riley’s phone goes off, and a frown slips onto her face as soon as she opens the text. “Oh.”

“Can’t go?”

“No, it’s just-“ Riley’s mouth twists in indecision; then she turns off her notifications, throws her phone back into her bag and stands up. “It was just Maya,” she says, ignoring the weird, nerve-wracking, tingly something that's spreading through her chest. “It’s fine.”

“You sure?” Lucas asks, raising his eyebrows, and Riley starts to wonder what she’s done to deserve him. “You can call her back.”

“It’s fine,” she repeats, smiling reassuringly, and then nods toward the door. She distracts herself from the impending text by watching the blue of Lucas’ eyes, like the ocean, like the sky after rain, like something that wants to swallow her.

“Let’s?” Lucas offers.

“Let’s,” she agrees.

 

***

 

They learn about Stonewall in Cory’s history class, about the riots, about the Castro in San Francisco, about Harvey Milk, the civil rights movement repeating itself, what every color in the rainbow means: things that hit some tuning fork so deep inside Riley’s heart that she has to wonder just _how_ everyone doesn’t notice. 

A time bomb sitting in her stomach. An itch she can’t scratch. A strange sense of dread, bubbling up every time someone says the word _love_.

Cory drones on and on, and Riley finds herself looking over at Maya, bent over her notebook - the wild blonde curls, those bright eyes, the rosy smirk. The placid, otherworldly-gorgeous expression on her face, the one that comes she thinks no one is looking and actually pays attention in class. 

_I got so lucky,_ Riley thinks, dazed, her heart full to the brim. _How did I manage to find someone like you?_

Someone snaps a pencil and her brain starts to work again. Cory says something about bisexuality. Riley feels every muscle in her body freeze involuntarily.

When she and Maya go to dance class after school, Riley is still vibrating all over, nerves sparking with something unheard of. For the first time in her life, she can’t focus. Watching Maya move, watching the smile on her face, feeling electricity every time they touch - which is a lot, considering they’re doing a fucking duet - it’s insane. It’s awful. The hip-swerving and waist-grabbing and interlocking moves. The world spins so fast that she debates leaving early. It’s so hot. _It’s so hot._

Riley sticks it out, and then she goes home and takes three cold showers, falls asleep, wakes up at 2 am, showers a fourth time, and spends five hours researching LGBT resources. She takes a break every ten minutes to dance until her feet hurt and goes to school with a crushing headache, with something terrifying, dreadful, living in her heart.

The Stonewall unit goes on and on and on. Lucas tries to talk to her, but having a conversation with him just grates on her nerves. They’ve been floating apart the past couple weeks. Farkle and Zay have both been more absent; the more the lesson drags, the worse Riley’s perpetual foul mood gets. Maya still shows up - sometimes with flowers, sometimes with a drawing, sometimes just with a smile. It never works. The rest of the group are worried, she knows. She would be too.

But it’s not them. She tells them this again and again, although they never believe her.

It’s just that her brain won’t shut up.

Except when she dances.

This is why they do it, she realizes, _finally_. Maya is next to her, sweaty and hot, sitting against the wall with their thighs pressed together, Riley’s heart beating out of her chest. She can feel every blood cell, every nerve, every electric fingertip. Maya’s head is thrown back in laughter, her hair bright-gold, a smile flashing all her teeth. 

She looks down, meets Riley’s eyes. Laces their fingers together.

Riley’s heart stops.

After this, Riley practices so hard that she collapses - head-hit-the-ground, passed-out collapses. That’s when it comes to her.

This is why they dance: to do something, _anything_ , about the thoughts they can’t put words to.

 

***

 

In that 2 AM shower, something else comes to Riley’s brain, so shocking that she drops her soap.

If this has only just happened to her - if Riley has only just now, when this thing came to her, when all these feelings are finally starting to make sense, started to dance the way that Maya _always_ has - then what, in the name of God, is in Maya’s brain that makes her do it every day? 

 

***

 

The day after the Four Shower Fiasco, Riley shows up to school with her teeth gritted, head pounding, and a mantra stamped into her brain: _I will not let this be weird. I'm not going to ask her. I'm not going to be nosy. I'm not going to try to fix this._

_I will so not let this be weird._

She plasters a smile on, walks into class, and can feel the mantra dropping out of her brain instantly.

“Riley!” Maya is sitting on her desk, swinging her legs just above the ground. She’s wearing a skirt and a Beatles tee that the two of them bought together, has her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail and a megawatt smile on her face, looking gorgeous as ever, looking more like herself than she ever has. Riley can’t stop staring - in fact, she does nothing _but_ stare, just stands there, frozen. After a few tense moments, Maya’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. She snaps her fingers loudly. “Did everyone move out of Rileytown?”

“No,” Riley says, sudden and sharp. She can feel the blush flaming under her skin, can feel everyone’s eyes on her, can feel discomfort more than anything. She slams into her seat so hard that every bone vibrates. “No, sorry.”

Maya frowns, and Riley shifts around uncomfortably, drums her fingernails across the desk. 

_Dad’s about to be late,_ she thinks. _We’re going to have another war. Maya’s going to leave me again._

She grits her teeth. 

_I need to stop taking so many showers._

Some agonizing minutes pass. Cory slides in, though it’s sort of hard to notice. He says something blurry, starts to write on the chalkboard: this Riley pays attention to, not so much because she wants to as because the noise drives her insane.

“Jamestown, Virginia,” he says aloud. The words reverberate in Riley’s head. “The first permanent English colony in America. On May 13th, 1607, over one hundred men and boys settled a town near a river. In today’s world, that doesn’t mean much. Most of the Earth’s territory has been colonized; everyone in the world is a neighbor to someone else. But in 1607?”

He looks at Riley, solid and knowing and purposeful.

“In 1607, it was insane.” Riley’s heart jerks. “They had limited supplies, no neighbors, no friends. They had little knowledge of the surrounding area. They were thousands of miles from their homes, their families, and any known allies. If they died, no one would know.” Cory’s eyes are still on hers, drilling and drilling and drilling as he walks over, drilling as he plants both hands on her desk and says, firmly: “But they did it anyway.”

Riley blinks.

“Out of loyalty to their country,” Cory continues, steadfast, “out of honor, out of the urge to adventure, to make a  
mark on the world: they overcame all the trials and tribulations, ignored all the statistics, because they /believed/ in themselves and wanted to discover the New World.”

She can feel Maya's eyes on the back of her head.

“They gave up everything to come to America. We are who we are, have the history we do, and made the culture we did, because of those hundred men and boys.” Cory pauses. “Maya and Riley, please go out to the hallway.”

“What?” Maya interrupts, affronted. “ _Sir_ , I-“

“Please,” Riley says, and Maya goes quiet instantly.

They leave the class in silence, and Riley makes it ten steps before she slips to the ground. Maya sits down next to her, so that all the edges of their bodies line up - shoulder-to-shoulder, hip-to-hip, feet pressed together - and says nothing for a long, long time. They stay like that, yin-yang, for ages. Everything is so, so quiet.

“Riley, what are you so afraid of?”

She sucks in a breath.

“No, never mind.” Maya is shaking her head. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want. I get it. But Riles -“ she’s smiling, a slow, sad smile that curls just one side of her lips, that squeezes Riley’s heart half to death. “You’re my best friend. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I’m here for you. Always. Okay?” She slips a hand under Riley’s chin, tugs sideways until their gazes are interlocked, until Riley can see exactly what is living in Maya’s eyes, can sense the words that are about to come out of her mouth. “I  
love you, Riles.”

The world gets a little brighter.

“I love you too,” Riley says, fighting a smile.” You giant, sappy dork.”

“What can I say?” Maya asks, flashing her a one-sided smirk. She winks. “I learned from the best.”

 

***

 

It’s been four months since Maya moved, and Riley has finally succeeded in dragging her to a party. It’s New Year’s Eve, and they’re in a cab going to Farkle’s apartment, which is always talked about but never seen: the legend goes, it’s so big that anyone under the age of 6 isn’t allowed in - they can get lost too easily. Their whole grade is supposed to be there. Nobody is sure why, or how, Farkle is pulling this whole thing off. Maya has sort of a bad feeling about it. But Riley is excited - the glowy, lit-up from the inside, almost spastic kind of excited - so Maya is going along with it.

It feels normal compared to what they've been doing. That's _also_ why she's going.

She even dressed up a little bit. (The natural, only human urge to look good does still pop up sometimes.) Riley invited her over to get ready, but Maya refused. Something about getting dressed with her, letting Riley put on her makeup, being together for so many hours… it made her feel a little nauseous.

(Which is so, _totally_ normal.)

So Maya said no, politely, but also that she’d come around to pick up Riley around 8. In her room, she lay flat on her back for hours, staring at the ceiling, until the clock hit 7:30, Riley texted her - it’s always Riley - and finally, with the room lurching, she forced herself to stand up.

Her vision spins for a second.

In the back of her closet is a dress that’s never been worn. It drips down to her knees and opens on the left, in a thin slit all the way up one thigh; it’s sleeveless and all her black, with a collar that reaches up to her neck but leaves her shoulders bare. Underneath it is a pair of strappy coral heels, still halfway buried in their box. They’ve been hanging there together, in the dark, for so long that dust is starting to collect. Maya is unnerved by the sight of them.

But she looks damn good in that outfit.

And Riley is waiting for her. 

So Maya strips, changes into the dress, pulls on her shoes, and bolts out the door before she can change her mind. She teeters slightly in the heels when going down the stairs, and eventually ends up sliding down the rails, but by the time she makes it onto the sidewalk, she’s regained her balance and is feeling pretty good. The dress fits perfectly; the heels make her as tall as a normal human being. New York is drowning in the sunset so that every building goes gold, there’s a breeze whipping Maya’s bare legs and the back of her neck, and her heart is thundering in her chest, saying something important.

What is it? Well. That’s a different story.

She climbs the two flights to Riley’s apartment, knocks on the door three times, rapid-fire, then bursts in when it goes unanswered. Inside, it’s deathly quiet. “Hello?” Maya calls out, her voice rattling against the walls. Nothing comes back. She steals through the empty living room and past the open windows, hops the three steps to the bedroom hallway. Her heels click on the shiny wooden floors, make a strangely satisfying teeth-clack sound. Still nothing. “Riles?” She puts one hand on Auggie’s door and pushes inward; it swings open, revealing nothing but an empty room.

_“PEACHES!”_

Riley bursts from her bedroom like a bat out of hell, hair flying around her face, dress twirling above her legs, and crashes into Maya with the force of a tow truck.

“Holy shit!” Maya tumbles backward. The height of her shoes betraying her, she stumbles so hard, so fast, that when her feet hit the ground again, she thinks her heels might’ve punched a hole in the floor. Maya’s shoulder hits a wall and her trajectory finally stops, though she’s sure there’ll be a couple of bruises and cuts showing up by the end of the night. “Jesus, Bambi. Watch it, will ya?”

“Bambi?” Riley asks, confused

“That’s all you have to say?” Maya straightens up, spitting hair out of her face, and raises an eyebrow threateningly. “Yeah. Bambi. You know, with the legs?” She gestures to the absurd length of Riley’s limbs, currently exaggerated even further by a pair of heeled black sandals. “And the tripping over everything?”

“Hey.” Riley pouts, crossing her arms over her chest. Her hair is done in perfect curls, eyes sparkling in the fluorescent light, and Maya can tell that she’s fighting to keep the smile off her face. “I’m not _that_ bad.”

“You so are. I don’t even know how you dance so well.”

“Watch it, missy. This is my house you’re staying at.” Riley wiggles her eyebrows threateningly, pushes a finger against Maya’s chest. Then, tossing hair off her shoulder, she whips past the blonde and slides down the stairs to the front door before turning around. (This is when Maya finally notices her dress: loose, bright, and intricately patterned, just as she’d expected. There’s a silver chain hanging around her neck, and a mischievous grin painted on her face.) She puts her hands on her hips daringly. “Well? You coming?”

“Duh,” Maya says.

They fly down the two flights of stairs, onto the street, into a cab. Riley compliments her dress ( _really_ compliments, in a way that makes Maya tingle all over) and explains why all her family is out of the house (a Wiggles concert). She raves about the store she bought her shoes at, rambles on and on about the state of Farkle’s apartment, and wonders out loud about what Lucas will be doing there. Maya distracts herself looking at the Christmas decorations on the street, the light flickering off Riley’s dress. On their fingers, interlaced. The taxi rolls on endlessly, the engine humming through Maya’s heels. Her bare legs are sticking to the leather seats from the heat of the car, from being so close to Riley, from everything that runs rampant inside her.

They get out on a street Maya’s never seen before, take an elevator six floors up, and find Farkle’s apartment already open and loaded with people. The lights are dimmed and the walls lined with decorations; toward the back of the huge, modern-decorated living room, is a table with food, a mountain of games and photo props. Their Christmas tree is bristling in one corner, loaded and drooping with ornaments. Smackle and Farkle, Lucas, Zay, Darby and Yogi are all milling around, along with people that Maya have never even seen - exchanging drinks, phone numbers, secretive smiles. She watches something slosh over the edge of a red cup and sucks in a sharp breath. Then her brain kicks in. No way Farkle would let rabble-rousers in. Or alcohol. Her mouth twists in involuntary disappointment.

“What?” Riley is looking at her, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. A chill crawls up Maya’s spine.

“Nothing.” She steals a glance at the crowd again, trying to ignore Riley’s eyes drilling into her head. Now is so not the time to break out broken-Maya. Preferably, there would /never/ be a time to break her out.

But even sort-of-okay-Maya knows that’s not really an option.

For now, it’s just a matter of being discreet. Pushing down the urges. Maya forces her eyes off the way Missy Bradford’s fingers are curled around her cup and turns back to Riley, running a hand through her sweat-damp curls so forcefully she almost yanks out a chunk of hair. Music thunders inside her ears, rumbles around in her head. She grabs Riley’s fingers tighter, squeezing until her knuckles go white, but Riley says nothing. Just shifts a step closer, brushing their shoulders together in an act of comfort, and squeezes back until Maya finally relaxes.

“Riley!” Lucas appears from some dark corner, swigging from a water bottle, his teeth fluorescent in the dim light. He’s wearing a blue shirt so tight it makes Maya want to puke, and after he makes it over to them - sidling carefully through the crowd, as if he’ll break anyone he touches, even accidentally - he flashes Riley, and then Maya, a bright smile that crinkles his eyes at the corners. “Maya! Hey!”

“Sundance,” she snaps. 

“Maya,” Riley admonishes, elbowing her sharply. She beams at Lucas. “Hi there.”

“Ladies.” Farkle pulls up in front of them, flipping a sheet of light brown hair from his face. He has a bowl full of Cheetos tucked into one arm and a root beer in the other hand, unopened, which he thrusts at Maya with a dorky smile. 

“Farkle,” the blonde acknowledges, taking it with a suspicious look. The can is frosted with condensation that comes off on her fingers, drops of cold, icy water seeping into her skin. She twists her hands, watching it glitter all over as it shifts in the light. She pretends not to notice Riley watching her like a hawk.

“Hey.” Maya flinches, hard. Riley’s voice is right in her ear, warm and so close that Maya shivers, feeling the brunette’s breath graze a thinpatch of skin, a sensation like what comes right before she’d reach up and slap the bug off her neck, out of existence. (She clenches her hands into fists instead.) Riley’s fingers travel up her arm, graze her shoulders, her collarbone, settle on her jaw. 

Maya is trying not to look at her, trying so, so hard. 

Even though she can _feel_ Riley’s fingers on her: every single place she’s touched, where she sets Maya’s skin on fire, feeling every strange, filthy, bad-Maya urge in the goddamn universe running through her bones. It's the New World all over again. Riley’s eyes are dark and close, so close that Maya can see every eyelash, every freckle, every lightbulb reflected in her gaze.

Maya sucks in a breath, ragged, like window shutters.

“Maya, come on.” Riley is speaking quietly, as if to a wild animal, and has one hand still settled on the curve of Maya’s neck. She cuts a glance to Farkle and Lucas, who are both watching confusedly, and then steps forward, urging Maya backward to a quieter corner of the room. The blonde isn’t even sure what’s happening, or what, exactly, is making her head spin - but it _is_ spinning, so hard that Maya thinks she might puke. Her vision goes all blurry, the lights swimming in her eyes, heat bubbling under her skin. Riley grabs her by the fabric of her dress and slams her against a wall.

Okay, wait. 

“Talk to me,” Riley demands, an inch from Maya’s face, hand fisted in the front of her dress. Again: okay, wait. What?

Maya blinks, hard.

“I’m not good at parties.” Finally: there it is. Her eyes cut sideways. Farkle is looser than she thought: she catches sight of a joint passing between people’s fingers. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean-“ Maya heaves inward. The breath snarls in her throat, tightens around her lungs and chest. She grimaces, squeezing Riley’s arm until crescent-moon fingernail prints show up across her wrist. Her breaths are turning into more of a pant. The two of them are so close together that they’re almost intertwined, all their edges lined up in a way that makes Maya flame all over, like that painting - Gustav Klimt’s _The Kiss_. “I mean, I’m not good at parties.” She swallows again, eyelids flickering indecisively. “I got - involved, in a couple, at home. That didn’t turn out so well. I’ve got, an, uh. Addictive personality. When my parents found out-“ Maya grimaces, throws a hand out in dismissal. “- they cut off my dance. And I can’t do that. But I also kind of, sort of, really want to. And it’s a problem.”

She blows out a breath, watches the hairs swirl across Riley’s forehead. 

There are so many things she really wants to do. 

“That’s okay.” Maya blinks. “Peaches, it’s fine.” Riley reaches up, smooths a piece of hair back from Maya’s face, and smiles comfortingly. Then she shrugs and squeezes Maya’s hand. “I’ll just keep an eye on you. We can walk together. Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh.” Maya bites her lip and looks down, feeling the blush burn across her cheeks. “Thanks.”

“Duh.” Riley tugs at her hand, nods out at the crowded living room. “Let’s?”

Maya takes a deep breath and nods.

They spend a couple hours weaving in and out of the crowd, laughing, meeting people, never letting go of each  
other’s hands. Maya stiffens every time she sees something that makes her heartbeat speed up; Riley squeezes her hand as soon as she feels it, draws fingers up and down her arm until Maya finds a way to breathe again. At midnight, they make it out onto Farkle’s terrace, just the two of them. It’s strangely quiet outside, the breeze that tangles Riley’s dress the only sound except for tiny, far-away car honks and laughter. The city is dark all over and glittering with pin-sized lights, the skyline golden and black against a perfectly painted nighttime sky. Riley has a glass of apple cider in one hand, the other resting casually on Maya’s hip; when the clock strikes midnight, the boom faint from all the way inside, it’s just the two of them, like this, New York stretching out below for miles and miles, almost to the end of the world.

 

***

 

They come back to Riley’s room exhausted, burning up with laughter. Cory and Topanga are on the couch watching some rom-com when they burst in, Maya tripping over her own legs, laughing so hard that she nearly collapses in the middle of the room: Riley shoves her up the stairs and into bed, says that she’ll use the bathroom to change, that Maya shouldn’t wait up for her. The blonde is wild and giggly and drunk off happiness. Riley has to fight a smile every time she looks at her, but eventually she pushes Maya onto the bed and backs out. Promises she’ll be back in a minute, grabs the pajamas from her nightstand so it’ll look like she’s busy. Instead, she closes the door quietly and sneaks back into the living room to sit next to her parents.

“How was it, honey?” Topanga asks, pausing their movie.

“It was fine.” Riley looks down, drums her fingers across her knee nervously. “But I kinda want to ask you about something.”

“Sure.”  
“I was thinking about something the other day. Just a thing. That’s been on my mind. It really bothered me, I - don’t know why. But after it happened, I went to dance, and… I’ve never done anything like that before.” Riley looks down at her hands. “I don’t know, it was crazy. I never got tired. Jennifer said it was the best she’d ever seen. I couldn’t stop. I only did because I had that thing on my mind. But Maya - she does that every day.” She looks up at her parents; the two of them are staring back, silent, their faces unreadable. “I mean, what could make a person do that?”

Topanga sighs.

“I don’t know, honey,” she says, finally. Riley flinches when her mom puts a hand on her knee, lips curving down, summery and sad. “I know what you mean. But I don’t know what it is. You can’t push her to talk.” Topanga smiles faintly. “Unfortunately.”

“Okay, that’s what I thought.” Riley nods absently and pushes herself off the couch. “Thanks.”

She bounds up the stairs to her room, refusing to look back, and gently pushes open the door. Everything is midnight-dark and shadowy, outlined in black like velvet, but Maya’s hair practically glows, fanned out across the pillows; she has one of them clutched to her chest, and her eyelids are fluttering in the first stages of sleep. Riley sits down on the other side of the bed to take off her shoes, trying to be quiet. The mattress groans, and suddenly Maya flips over - Riley’s heels clatter loudly to the floor when their eyes lock, Maya’s glowing blue-blue-blue in the dark, practically fluorescent.

“I’ll tell you,” she says. Her voice is so soft that it almost seems imaginary. 

“What?” Riley asks, stunned. 

“I’ll tell you.” Maya’s eyelashes flutter slightly, a frown curving at her lips. She heaves in a deep breath, blows it out across Riley’s arm, then swallows. “Eventually. I promise, Riles. But I can’t now.”

“Okay.” Maya flips back onto her side, facing away, and Riley watches her for a minute. It’s almost one AM and the moonlight makes her silver, the way 5:30 is supposed to make people gold: everything is quiet and poised, a still life with the only movement the two girl’s breathing. Then she scoots down and wraps an arm around the blonde’s waist, tight enough that she can feel that split second of indecision where Maya tenses - pauses - and then breathes, putting her hand on top of Riley’s before she moves in closer. Riley rests her forehead against Maya’s shoulder, feels the way she breathes. 

It should be impossible to sleep with the way her heart is pounding, but with Maya there, she does. Somehow, she does. 

 

***

 

Maya leaves way early in the morning. Riley wakes up at nine and finds a goodbye note written on her wrist, which Maya somehow marked without waking her up. A dull, throbbing pain has built up behind her eyes; sunlight is dripping all over her room, golden and blindingly bright. Riley rolls over, shielding her eyes. The bay window is open, and Maya’s side of the bed is heaped with blankets and the heels she was wearing last night.

Riley looks down at her arm. _…The heels were killing me. I took your boots, sorry._ “Ah.”

She groans, sits up and pushes the hair out of her face. The sun is blaring at full force, and Riley can only stand a few seconds of looking out the window before she leans over and grabs her phone. 2 missed calls, 5 texts.

_Maya: thanks for keeping an eye on me last night_

_Farkle: hey!_

_Farkle: Riley_

_Farkle: I think we need to talk_

_Lucas: Farkle’s flipping. he thinks there’s something going on with you and Maya?_

Riley lets out a sharp breath through her teeth.

_Riley (to Maya): always, peaches :)_

_Riley (to Lucas): he’s flipping?_

_Riley (to Farkle): about what?_

She only makes it a few feet from the bed before her phone goes off again.

_Farkle: can you meet me at Topanga’s in 10?_

Pfft. Riley types back an okay, pulls on a pair of jeans that was laying on her floor, laces up her sneakers, and slides out the door. It seems no one else has woken up yet, and the only noise coming in is the filtered sounds of traffic outside, bleeding through the windows. She hops down the stairs and into Topanga’s in record time; Farkle is already there, lounging across two of the chairs and playing on his phone. Riley throws herself down next to him. “Farkle!”

“Riley,” he answers.

“So?” Riley finally catches his eye, and he raises his eyebrows at her, looking uncharacteristically grim. 

Something sharp - fear - stabs into her chest.

“What is it?” she presses.

“You’re -“ Farkle sighs through his teeth, face twisting uncomfortably. “Leading Lucas on.”

Riley’s eyes widen. “Um, excuse me?”

“You’re leading him on,” Farkle repeats, more confident this time. “I mean, you two were lovey-dovey since you saw him on that subway, and then Maya shows up -“

“Maya!” Riley shrieks, feeling all the blood rush to her face. “Maya! What does she have to do with any of this?”

“You can’t keep flirting with him if you’re in love with her. It’s not fair, Riley. You’ve been together for a year and a half, and I know you wouldn’t cheat on him. I know you’re a good person. I’m not saying you’re not. But we can see you around her, Riley. It’s so obvious. And Lucas has been just dealing with it, but I can’t let him.” Farkle closes his eyes and exhales. “Look, if I were in your situation, I don’t know what…”

_In love with her?_

Riley blinks, dazed. 

“… but I just thought, you know, I need to-“

“Farkle,” Riley mumbles, holding up a hand to shush him. He looks back at her in surprise, eyebrows furrowing in confusion at the expression on her face, which flickers and changes every few seconds. Riley feels like she’s struggling to stay alive. “In _love_ with her? Isn’t that, um. Isn’t that - _fast?_ “

“Fast?” Farkle looks at her incredulously. “Riley, you came home raving about her the first day you met, and you pretty much only knew her name.”

“Okay, no, but-“

“But nothing! You liked her since the moment you met her!”

“I like everybody!”

“Do you like Lucas or not?”

“Oh. Well -“

“Riley.”

“I did like him! As a friend! I always did, I still do, and I _liked_ him for a while before. But I don’t know. Now? Farkle, I don’t know, okay? Why do I have to pick?”

“I’m not telling you to pick, but at least stop taking it out on us until you figure it out!”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do! I’m not trying to -”

“I know you’re not trying. But you and Lucas and Maya are all my best friends. It’s my job to get involved, Riley.”

“Get involved with what?”

Riley looks up.  
Maya is standing in the doorway, hands in the pockets of a pair of boyfriend jeans, wearing a battered t-shirt and Riley’s boots. One eyebrow is raised in confusion, her lips parted slightly, and when she catches Riley staring, she says again, suspicion coloring her voice - “What is it?”

Lucas steps in behind her, pushing back the hood of his raincoat, although he seems to be dry. There’s a knowing look on his face, as well as a glimmer of defeat. He’s as gorgeous as ever. But seeming him sad casts shadows on every memory Riley has of him, and of the two of them together.

It’s over, isn’t it?

He catches Riley’s eye, and for a moment, she feels a nauseating rush of guilt. The world dips down and rushes back up again, the way it feels right before you hit the ground face-down. 

But he just gives her this sad little smile and mouths: _I know._

The fact that he doesn’t say it out loud speaks volumes for how much he loves her.  
“Riley?” Maya’s voice is hot with impatience. Riley tries to meet her eyes, but it takes ages: everything feels slow and feverish, like moving through sludge, or falling into sickness. When everything finally snaps into place, Riley’s heart stops like it just overdosed on adoration. Maya’s arms are crossed over her chest, teeth worrying at her lips, shifting her weight across her feet every few seconds. Her whole being radiates heat, even from across the room: it’s the lightbulb phenomena again. 

She looks murderous, and Riley can’t stop thinking about how gorgeous she is. 

“Riley, I swear t-“

Riley turns to Lucas. “I’m so sorry.”

“What?” Maya snaps.

“It’s okay, Riley,” Lucas says, pushing his hands into his pockets. His eyes are warm, and Riley wonders what kind of a person she is to do this to him. “Friends?”

“Always,” Riley agrees.

“Now that Ranger Rick had his goddamn moment, can I get mine, please?” Maya interrupts.

“Yes.” Riley stands up and immediately falls back down again; her vision goes black, her equilibrium totally out of whack, but she forces herself to get up again. Farkle and Lucas are  
watching her purposefully, and Riley wants to talk - can feel the words living in the back of her mouth - but it’s _so_ not happening here. “We need to go the studio.” Her throat closes up, tongue goes dry. If she makes a mistake, everything goes down the drain.  
It’s beyond terrifying.

Maya pauses, and that’s even scarier.

Then:

“Okay,” she says, meeting Riley’s eyes. “I trust you.”

 

***

 

The studio is closed, but Maya has a key on her, one she stole from the front desk one day after the receptionist went home.

“Only used it a couple times before,” she remarks as they open the door, shaking the keyring in Riley’s face. “Helps me think. I like having the option.”

Riley says nothing. She was silent the whole ride over, didn’t respond when Maya talked, flinched when they brushed hands. She’s so nervous, she can barely find it in her to breathe. Maya seems to understand. She’s careful not to touch Riley on the subway, and asks questions without expecting an answer. Fills the silence with that voice Riley fell in love with. Tells stories she’s never heard before, because, after all, it is a long ride over.

The door swings open, clanging loudly in the empty space. The receptionist desk is covered in loose papers, and someone’s sweater is hanging off a bench, crumpled up and forlorn. Riley feels acutely uncomfortable: she’s never, ever, seen it empty.

Maya, on the other hand, seems more at ease. She slips the keys into her pocket, reaches over, and grabs a handful of candy from the desk. “You want?” Riley shakes her head; Maya just shrugs, making an obscene sucking noise as she pops it into her mouth and pulls it through her teeth. “So.”

“So?” 

“How long you gonna drag this out, honey?” Maya looks at her pointedly; she’s leaning against the desk with one arm, teeth clicking on a Jolly Rancher, one eyebrow cocked in a deadly stare. When Riley doesn’t answer, she lets out an exasperated sigh. _“Matthews.“_

Riley snaps to attention. “Not dragging anything!” she answers, voice rising an octave in fear, and throws a hand toward the studio door. “Let’s go.”

Maya sighs again and follows Riley as she opens the door, flips on a light switch. Everything comes humming to life, casting the whole room into bright, fluorescent light, bringing them to life into the mirror that covers the opposite wall. Maya shoves her hands in her pockets and turns to look at Riley.  
“Riley,” she warns.  
Riley’s whole body is humming with anxiety, heart torn to shreds in her chest, and _oh no,_ it’s here, right here, the moment that has been living in the future for so long - not in the future anymore, instead so close that every nerve in Riley’s body is screaming. She can feel her mouth opening and closing fruitlessly, throat dry, watching the whole world jerk around underneath her feet.

“Maya, I-“ Finally. Two words. Riley takes a deep , shuddering breath, and - 

“Honey, calm down. Jeez.” Maya flashes her a one-sided smirk, a strangely knowing look in her eyes, and drags them down to sit on the floor. Riley hits the ground hard and her heart jumps up, straight into her mouth, so that she can feel it sitting on top of her tongue. She forces herself to breathe.

“Listen,” Maya says, the word vibrating between them. “If you don’t want to tell me, I’d understand.”

“I know you would,” Riley answers quietly, “but does that really make it any better?”

“No.” Maya pauses; Riley watches her blink, the slow flutter of her eyelashes, the sincere concern in her gaze. “But it’s my job.”

“If I don’t say something, Farkle will.”

Maya shrugs. “I’ll still act surprised.”

“Why aren’t you mad at me?”

“The same reason you’re not mad at me. Same reason you let me keep quiet about why I dance.”

Maya’s eyes are full of something she doesn’t know what to do with. 

“I dance so much better now that you’re here,” Riley blurts, heat building under her skin. “I’m so much better with you around.”

Maya smiles.

“I know, pumpkin.” 

“No, you don’t.”

“I do.” Maya doesn’t take her eyes off Riley, though there’s something building up in her hands that’s making them shake. “It’s been you.” She shrugs, and this time Riley feels the whole world start to shake when Maya looks up and gives her a sheepish smile. “Always. Even since before I met you.”

“How is that possible?”

“A skeptic, huh?” Maya’s lips twitch in amusement. “Riles, when I started to dance like that, it was because I had just figured out something about myself. And dancing could stop me from thinking about it. I did it because I knew, eventually, I was going to have to face the real world - I was going to meet some girl that I couldn’t make a secret out of. I dance like that because I was trying so hard to take myself out of it. It’s so much easier to tell a story when you’re not in it.” Her smile takes on something sad and self-conscious. “So, you know. Moving here, finding you. I saw it coming.”

“I didn’t really take you for a prophecy girl.”

“I only have the one,” Maya says quietly, trying not to smile.

“Is that what happened to me?” Riley’s heart is flailing around in her chest. A sense of desperation is creeping up her spine, one she stymies by reaching for Maya’s hand out of habit. “It makes sense, but I don’t - Maya, what do I do?”

Maya shrugs, squeezing her hand. “Riles, I can’t tell you what to feel. You know I love you: as a best friend, a sister, more than that. As the girl who’s kept me dancing for years.” Her eyes are sharp and determined. “I’m yours already,” she says, smiling sheepishly, helpless. “So. You know.”

“You are?”

“For a smart kid, Riles, you’re just _so_ incredibly dense.”  
“Okay, so-“ Riley blows out a breath, and a smile starts to creep across her lips, because something _totally_ just fell into place, because the puzzle has been completed, because she knows what to say, which is: “Maya Hart, do you wanna be my duet partner?”

Maya stares at her for one long second and bursts into laughter so hard that she cries.

“Yes, stupid,” she gasps, chest heaving with laughter, tears streaming from her eyes. All the tensions in their life dissolve suddenly, and it’s just the two of them on the dance floor, two girls  
who know what do with themselves now.

The world is perfect.

“You do?”

_“Yes,”_ Maya repeats surely, still giggling hysterically under her breath, and she only stops laughing when Riley leans forward and kisses her so hard she goes blind.

**Author's Note:**

> gmw doesn't belong to me nor do it's characters, blah blah blah, the lyrics that Maya dances to in the beginning is from nicki minaj's "no flex zone" freestyle (god bless her) and those don't belong to me either!
> 
> ALSO, LISTEN: if y'all want me to write something specific send me a message @ philtaatos.tumblr.com with requests/prompts/whatever!! I'd totally love it


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